Consummation Of The Soul
by Aeraz
Summary: Castiel Novak has a lot issues, and Dean Winchester is your typical teenage bad boy, also with a lot of issues. When Castiel transfers, he notices the way Castiel seems to loathe him, and he's more than interested to find out why. But when his friends find their new victim, and when life gets in the way, things get complicated. Warning: Depression/Self harm/Abuse/Bullying
1. North Vale High

Castiel climbed out of the car seat, feet firm on the cement as he took in the sight of his surroundings. He took a deep inhale of the fresh air surrounding them, and breathed out the oxygen that delightfully filled his lungs. This was their new home. They've never been to Redwood before, much less heard of it. It was a small town, and nothing like what they were use to. They were use to cities and fancy state buildings, not trees and old fashioned, battered houses. He wasn't use to change, and never liked it all that much, but he could definitely get use to it here. He liked the scenery the town possessed, it was calming and had an unusual aesthetic to it. There was even a difference in the air that he couldn't bring himself to explain. It was nice and mysterious, sending thrills under the surface of his skin until he could feel it run through his bones. The atmosphere the place gave off was like some foretelling, that something would change, that things would take a turn. For better or worse, he didn't know.

It was just a house, he couldn't comprehend the feeling it gave off of he examined it. Like it was a new beginning, a fresh start. His little brother, came out of the car soon after, not bothering to close the attached door as he faced the the house. He looked down at his little brother at the other end of the car, and could tell he was goggling the setting in astonishment. He smiled down at him, and looked back over to the large structure before them.

"What do you think of the place, Jesse?" Castiel asked the boy who seemed too excited for his own good.

Jesse turned his head quickly with passion, eyeing his big brother as he stared back. "It's huge!" he described enthusiastically.

It wasn't that big, but it probably seemed that way to him since there would be three people living in the house now, and it would be mainly just him and his brother since their father would be at work most hours of the day.

He turned back to the view, and attempts to run towards the front door.

"Jesse, aren't you forgetting something?" Castiel hinted with clouded eyes of disbelief, gesturing his head towards the front of the car where Audrey's mother claimed the seat.

"Oh, sorry!" Jesse was a polite kid, but was sometimes too preoccupied with certain things that he completely forgot about that part of him.

He sprinted back to the opened passenger seat and leaned his upper body in just enough so he could say his thanks to Mrs. Elmer for dropping them off. Without as much as a pause, he continues his dart towards the house, hearing little thuds as he runs up the door steps.

"Wait up, Jesse!" He shut his side of the car door, thanking Audrey's mom for dropping them off, and watched as she drove down the street. He walked briskly to the front steps, taking out keys that once use to reside in his jeans pocket. Jesse was waiting impatiently, signalling the teen to hurry up when he couldn't take the wait.

"If I didn't have the keys right here, I wouldn't be surprised if you broke the front door down," Castiel chuckled at his eagerness. Jesse rolled his eyes at that, and watched as castiel turned the keys in the lock.

He unlocked the door, but kept the key in, and looked at the little form of bottled energy next to him. He looked up at him with impatience.

"I'll let you in once you calm down," he reassured the boy who appears to be experiencing the effects of a sugar rush, and couldn't help but let a chuckle fall off his lips, leaving the corners of his mouth stretched to mold a small smile. Usually, Jesse was quite the serious child, but when it came to new things and places, he couldn't contain his excitement.

"Please!" The little boy cried. "You already got to see it, it's not fair that I had to wait so long."

"I also had to do all the heavy lifting and planning by myself, all while you decided to stay at Audrey's house all day." To say he did all of the work wasn't entirely true. His father, Bartholomew had hired a few movers to help get the furniture into the house, but the actual designing and moving was on him.

His father was at work all day, not even lending as much as a hand in the process. In a way, he was grateful for that. That way he could organize the house the way he wanted, and if his father were to help, their whole house would look like a replica of his office.

Jesse gave him a pleading look, managing to feign guilt at the same time. He wasn't mad at him for not helping out, not when he probably wouldn't have allowed him to in the first place, he was just fourteen years old.

Castiel gave in and decided to let him enjoy a few minutes of merriment, removing the key, and letting the boy rush through the front door to examine the rooms.

"It's looks even bigger on the inside," he commented as he stood in the hallway. Jesse quickly took off his shoes one by one from habit before he continued his search around the house. Castiel removed his own sneakers, leaving him with just his white socks.

To the left was an open kitchen that lead to an extra room in the basement, and to the right was the living room, all of which he was proud to say he arranged himself. Down the hall was was the bathroom on the left wall. Opposite it was a set of stairs that lead to the second floor, which had both their rooms and his father's, including an extra bathroom, which was convenient since they tended to use the bathroom at the same time in the morning for school.

He walked up the stairs where Jesse seemed to have headed, and wandered to the room on the left, which he decided to be his brothers while he was moving everything around earlier today.

He saw his little brother sprawled on the bed, looking at the ceiling. He turned over to his older sibling who leaned against the doorway with his shoulder, arms crossed. "I really like this place", he said with a straight face, which was actually quite hilarious considering how energetic he was just a minute ago.

"Yeah, I know you do," Castiel smiled.

Sometimes, Jesse felt like a real brother to him. They weren't related by blood, he was the son of a family friend who disappeared a while back and never returned. Bartholomew, his father, agreed to let him stay with them since he was close to Jesse's parents. Castiel was great with Jesse before that all happened, and was responsible and trusted enough to take care of him when his mother wasn't around, so it all worked well. He knows Jesse still misses his parents, but he takes the place as his guardian.

He looked back up to the ceiling and asked, "Will things be different this time?" Castiel was taken aback by the sudden mention. They were silent for a moment as Castiel's thoughts were sent back to the recent past, a time he doesn't want to think about. He quickly shoved those thoughts to the back of his head, and attempts to reassure his worried little brother.

"It'll be fine this time, I promise," Castiel assured, but didn't notice a change in the little boys expression.

"How can you be so sure?" He looked genuinely upset. He didn't like it when he lied to him, but sometimes, it was necessary.

"I'm not, but things could really be different here, for the better," he tried to convince even himself. If Jesse was like him, which he was, he'd be skeptical too.

"What if it's for the worse?," Jesse asked. Castiel couldn't count the amount of times he's thought the same thing on his two hands.

He scanned his mind for a good enough reply, one that would at least temporarily ease his brothers negative thoughts.

"If it is, we'll handle it when we get there. We can't forget about what happened and change it if we keep thinking about it." Jesse gave no response other than a slow shake of the head.

"I know you're worried, but you don't have to, I'll be okay," he added. Castiel kept his eyes on him for a few seconds before heading out the door.

"Make sure to set your alarm for tomorrow, and don't stay up too late," he warned his little brother.

He had a habit of acting like overprotective parent around him sometimes, but it came naturally with him. He felt responsible for him since his father was almost never there to take care of him, Jesse barely knew the guy other than from the time when his parents were around. He wasn't sure when they'd come back, but given they've been gone for three and a half years, he's not sure what to think. A wave of sadness washes over him, but again, he can't think of that, not right now.

Castiel opened the door to his room, just opposite of his brothers. He stood a few feet in front of the ajar door, taking the time to admire his newly owned room. Looking left to right, he was greatly satisfied with the how he made his room. Everything just seemed to fit into place. Like a key in a lock, everything looked to be in it's rightful spot.

His bed was just to the left side of the room, fitting in just perfectly between both the left and furthest wall. His desk was positioned right beside his bedside table, with a bunch of unread books filling the surface in an organized stack, along with his old laptop. A window right above, proving just how late it's become since finished with the house, it was already dusk outside. Beside it, he had a medium sized bookshelf to keep all of the books he's bought and read in it, neatly tucked against each other. A closed closet to the right wall of the room, just left of a small dresser with a simple TV on top.

Castiel was a pretty boring guy, he didn't have much to decorate his room with other than a fancy carpet that laid in the middle of the floor that he got at a yard sale for just a few dollars.

A few picture frames were hung on the wall next to his door. One of his deceased mother in a frame on the wall next to his door. Long brown hair flowing in the wind as the shot was taken, with dark cobalt eyes, a color you'd only think to find at the bottom of an ocean. He doesn't know much about his mother, but he knows where he got his looks from.

Next to it are pictures in smaller frames with a few good memories with his siblings, Gabriel, Anna, and Jesse. He misses his older brother and sister, and has been missing them ever since they'd gone off to college. Those photos were about all that made his room stand out.

After hours of moving furniture on his own, his legs ached, his muscles were sore, and he was tired out of his mind. He swore that if he had laid down on his recently made bed for even just a minute, his body would call it a day and he drift off to sleep without realizing. He would have been completely okay with that if not under these certain circumstances.

But considering he is under these certain circumstances, he can't, at least not yet. So instead of relieving his tired eyes, he prepares for school tomorrow.

He steps into the bathroom on the right of Jesse's closed door, and in front of his father's room. He feels the cold ceramic floor tiles sticking to the bottom of his feet as he strips off his clothing, placing them neatly on the surface of the marble sink counter. After giving himself a quick look in the mirror above the sink, he sees the exhaustion on his face, and under his eyes. It goes bone deep, and he hopes a good night sleep would fix it, but it never really does, not wholly.

He steps into the warm shower, craving the touch of his soft pillow and warm blanket against his skin, but settles for the relaxing, warm droplets falling onto his skin. He makes sure to wash himself thoroughly after a long day of moving. He steps out of the shower, changing into a white Star Wars t-shirt along with comfortable sleeping pants he laid out for himself prior. He brushes his teeth meticulously, and towel dries his not so short brown hair to the point where it would dry well on it's own. He liked the naturally messy result it gave, and that was all that had to be done.

He finishes loading his backpack with binders, writing utensils, and picks out a book for his habitual lunchtime reading. He sets his ready dark grey backpack on the floor at the end of his desk, and lays down on his bed, arms behind his head, looking up at his now cream colored ceiling. Flashes of light occasionally dancing with the beige on the wall from the window as cars drove by in the night.

Soon, his father would be home, but he wouldn't get the chance to see him like usual. He hoped he would like the way he arranged everything, especially his room, but his father was always pretty much indifferent to everything he did. Maybe because he wasn't home enough to truly appreciate it.

He knew Jesse was worried about him, and it was understandable with what happened at their old school. A lot of bad stuff happened there, and not much good. If he had to admit it himself, he was worried too. He was scared that things would end up the same as last time.

He'd be berated by his father again after a heated argument, or rushed back into a hospital after a bad day at school again. He didn't want that, he wanted this time around to be normal, but he didn't expect it to be. Life at home and school would always be the same, and he'd come to terms with that, for Jesse. He didn't want to worry his little brother any more than he already does, so he deals with it so he doesn't have to.

His eyes grew heavier and heavier as minutes passed by, thoughts only just lingering at the back of his mind, until eventually, he falls asleep.

* * *

Dean jolts awake to the sound of his phone alarm, set on the highest volume with the most loud and annoying tune known to man. Without even thinking, he knows he's going to have to get back at Sam for that, as well as changing his lock code. Even if Sam is a clever little genius who has his ways of figuring out a four digit code every single time. He sits up at the side of his bed, feet firmly placed on the floor below. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he hears sounds coming from the kitchen.

It's unusual hearing such activity this early in the morning, not to mention waking up this early in the morning. Why was he awake so early? It was seven thirty in the morning, no one should be up this early, unless you're the type of person who likes to eat fruit for breakfast that is. Then, it hits him.

"Right, of course, school starts today," Dean mumbles, still trying to get the tired out of his eyes. That must be why Sam set his alarm, even if in the most annoying way possible. He gets up and walks out of his bedroom, going down the stairs.

At the last step, he sees his little brother, with his messy bed hair, and a shirt much too large for him, making whatever it is he's making on the stove. He can't see the food, but he can hear the sizzling and smell the bacon and eggs enter his nose as he inhales, exhaling in appreciation. What a good way to start the day.

His stomach growls with hunger and craving. If there was only enough bacon left for one, he'd have to resort to stealing from Sam's plate to fulfill his craving, even if they did have a no food stealing policy in this house. This was implemented by Sam because of Dean's apparent preoccupation with food, as also stated by Sam. He did not have a preoccupation with food, Sam simply ate like a bird, and snacked on rabbit food for a living. At least that's how he likes to think of it; Sam disagrees.

He makes his way to the kitchen, and instead of sitting at the nearest chair, he makes his way over to walk past Sam just give his little brother the noogie he deserves.

"Oww, stop!" Sam protester as he dropped his spatula on the counter.

Dean stops, not because of Sam's cry of disapproval, but because he just wants to make his way to the table and sit down, still trying to acknowledge the fact that he has to get up and go somewhere today for seven long hours.

"That's what you get for messing with my phone, bitch."

He would have actually done it whether he touched his phone or not, it's practically tradition at this point to do it a few times every week. Dean places both elbows on the counter, and holds his phone out, unlocking it, and checking his messages. No important one's, just his so called friends trying to strike up unnecessary conversation that he has no interest in this early in the morning.

Sam heads over to the table, a plate in both hands, including forks, one with an obviously more copious amount of food.

Sams gives the larger plate to Dean, and in doing so, looks dean in the eyes, and solemnly swears, "Jerk." Dean nudges him in the arm as some kind response. Another tradition that these two share that just never seems to end. The little boy then goes to the fridge and returns with a box of orange juice along side with two glasses, setting them on the table. Dean decides to help out and pour them both a good amount of the beverage.

Sam sits at in his usual chair, and starts eating his food, at a quicker pace than accustomed. He can only guess Sam doesn't want to be late. "We have to leave in twenty minutes, so eat fast." Dean picks up his fork and is pleased to see that Sam made him a few pieces of bacon. He remembers not having much left in the fridge, so he must have used it all, he takes note to buy some more later.

"So, what did you do?," Dean asks.

Sam looks up with confused and innocent eyes, with a hint of guilt that is so subtle, only he would notice. Dean sighs, he knows Sam far too well.

"You're making food for me, usually you don't even let me near your bag of chips." Dean takes Sam's silence as an opportunity to take a drink of orange juice while he decides on an answer.

Sam is not one for sharing, at least not with Dean, because he knows he'll just eat the whole damn thing. When it comes to making food for him, Sam just doesn't. Or at least not in the morning, they take turns at dinner. It's some kind of intervention into getting him to stop being so lazy and do things for himself, which really irritates him. Especially when he see's Sam with a plate full of delicious food in front of him, leaving Dean with nothing.

Sam, deciding to be honest says, "I broke your favorite mug."

"You what?" Dean practically chokes on his drink. This was a great way to start the morning.

He looks at him with wide eyes, as if he just told him he murdered a person and buried him in the backyard. He loved that mug, it's the only Star Wars mug they have, and he loves a good Star Wars movie. "I was just putting away the dishes and dropped it." Sam looks at his older brother, giving him the puppy eyes.

"Sorry," Sam adds quietly.

Dean rolls his eyes, ruffles his brothers hair, and gets back to eating.

"It's just a mug, I'll buy myself another one next time, probably with your money."

Sam immediately looks relieved, as if he just got off the hook for actually murdering someone, and doesn't take the last of his comment seriously, because he obviously knows he would never steal from him.

"Good thing I chose to make bacon this morning, it always puts you in a good mood."

"Right, because if you didn't make bacon, who knows what I'd do, breaking a mug is a serious crime." Sam just laughs and continues eating until they both finish their food.

Dean gets up and puts his plate in the sink, heading up to his room to get ready. "Alright Sammy, get ready and wait for me in the car."

Dean changes out of his pajamas and changes into his usual dark wash jeans, t-shirt, plaid long sleeve, with leather jacket to top it off. He grabs his school bag, not bothering to check if he had everything he needed, and flings it over his shoulder. It was only the first day anyways, he didn't care all that much like Sam did if he had the right materials or not. He makes his way out the front door and see's Sam already waiting in the Impala, shotgun as expected. He climbs into the front seat, and drives to school.

This year, he doesn't have to drop Sam off to elementary school since he's now a freshman. He himself is on his last year of high school, and after that, he won't have to bother with any of his annoying classmates any longer. It would be just him and Sam, like it's always been. Dean did have friends, just none he considered important enough to keep in contact with after graduation. Some of them he even disliked, but he couldn't do much about it, that's just how high school is.

Parking his car in the school parking lot, he gets out and gives Sam a few words of advice on high schools unwritten rules. He could tell Sam is nervous for his first day, but knowing him, he'll be fine once the day is over, coming back home with a whole bunch of new friends, as well with some of his old ones that decided to go to North Vale High. Everyone adored his little brother, no matter where they went, or who they met, so he didn't worry.

He takes his schedule out of his bag, the only thing he knew that he'd packed prior, and looks it over. He'd have English for home room, then Math, lunch, Science, and Spanish to end the school day. He was lucky to have lunch early on instead of before fourth period like last year. That semester was just a tedious, unnecessary wait of pure torture. He walked through the doors and was almost immediately greeted by his friend Crowley with a pat on the shoulder.

Crowley was one of his friends he actually sort of liked, that is until he became a great big bag of dicks. He still liked him though, to an extent, he could still sense the guy he use to be lingering around in there, and was still an overall hilarious guy to be around. One of the reasons why is that he started being a scumbag to other students. Dean didn't care much for it, and didn't participate other than occasional name calling, but it definitely changed Crowley as a person, and made him downright arrogant.

"Hey squirrel, you ready for your first day of school?" Crowley grinned, speaking in a voice you'd only hear directed to a kindergartner.

"Oh, shut it."

They make their way down the hall, and Dean checks the number on each passing locker to match the one written on his schedule.

"So, how was your summer?" He knew Crowley didn't really care, but what else was there to begin their talk with when they haven't seen each other in weeks? It was a typical first day of school conversation starter.

"Not much, Sammy broke my favorite Star Wars mug this morning though." Smiling at the thought of his clumsy brother. He turns to Crowley, and his pretend hurt expression was almost laughable.

"I loved that mug", he confesses. He's been to his house a few times since the beginning of high school when they first met. He wouldn't be surprised if he ever mentioned the mug to him. Either that, or he's just humoring him.

A few students bump into them, and apologize as they continue to make their way to their own classes, Crowley warns them to watch where they're going.

"Yeah, that's what I said."

When he finally finds his locker, Dean just finishes sharing a couple of funny stories about him as his brother that happened while he was away. He puts all of the unnecessary stuff that he won't be using until after lunch in it. He takes his own lock from his bag where he remembers last putting it and secures it onto his locker, remembering his code from last year.

"Enough about me, what about you? Break any mugs this summer?" Dean joked, earning a laugh from his friend.

"No, because sadly, my Summers will never be as exciting as yours." Dean smirks as Crowley playfully points at him.

He gives Crowley a playful nudge on the shoulder, accidentally knocking him into a couple of students, not bothering to say his apologies, causing the two girls to grumble in complaints.

They meet Jeffrey and Gordon along the way, and talk a bit until they walk over to his home room, which is conveniently close to his locker. He bids his friends a farewell as he walks into his English classroom.

* * *

The room was pretty much full, and the teacher was already up front. He could only guess he was late. He eyed the seat of the second row, closest to the door, with no one sitting in the seat beside it. Thank God for that, he hated sitting near people sometimes, most of his classmates were just idiots. He covertly tried to tip toe his way to the available seat that was nearly calling to him, hoping the teacher didn't notice him walk in.

"I see you, Dean Winchester," Mr. Wyatt cautioned him not to even attempt at sneaking past him.

He recognized him from last year, he was a great teacher and seemed to like Dean, despite his attitude and disinterest in his, or any lessons for that matter. He was just starting to write his name on the whiteboard with a red marker, meaning he wasn't as late as he thought.

"Yeah, yeah." He quickly takes his seat and sets his bag next to his desk, and leans back in his chair for comfort, readying himself for a good seven hours of misery.

Giving at least some effort, he takes out a pencil from his jacket pocket, and fidgets with it while he waits for class to start. However, once it does, it doesn't start off the way he expected it.

"Good morning class, I'll skip past the introduction since most of you already know me by now." He sets the marker down on the Whiteboards edge. "Instead, there's someone else who will be making one, come on in", he signaled out the classroom.

The door opened, and in came a face he's never seen before. He had blue eyes as deep as the ocean, so blue that you could get lost in them if you wanted to go out for a swim. He had messy brown hair that complimented his sapphire eyes, just waiting to be ruffled up, with just a simple dark sweater and jeans. He walks up to the front of the room beside the teacher.

"This is Castiel Novak, he will be a student here from today on, would you like to introduce yourself?"

"I decline your offer, may I take my seat now?" A few students burst into giggles, and he couldn't help but grin himself.

This guy was definitely weird. What's weirder is that normally, this school doesn't get many new students. It's a small town, not to mention people don't usually transfer on their last year.

"Uh, yeah, sure, welcome to North Vale High," Mr. Wyatt concluded, and began to sit at his desk and take attendance.

Castiel walked over to Dean, and sat in the seat next time him. Damn, he really wanted to sit alone for homeroom, especially if it meant not sitting by the weird new guy. Dean gives a glance to his apparently now desk buddy, and sees him take out some paper, a pencil, and a book that he doesn't know from the looks of it. He promptly opens his book, and starts to read where he last left off near the middle as he waits for the roll call to end. It's seems to be a pretty long book, not one he would choose to read for a book essay, he usually goes for the ones with less pages.

He stares for a bit too long and accidentally drops his pencil from loss of focus, rolling off his desk and hitting the side of his new desk neighbors chair. The blue eyed boy, or Castiel as he remembers it, seems to notice and bends down to pick it up.

He grips the pencil loose between his thumb and index, and turns towards Dean, offering his pencil back. Dean thinks he looks into his eyes for a bit too long, and realizes when the guy coughs the silence away, that he in fact did.

"Oh, right, thanks," Dean quavered, taking his pencil back with a firm grip amidst his two fingers.

Castiel nodded his head in reply with an annoyed look in his eyes and turned back to his book, continuing to read as if he had completely forgotten their interaction. What was that about? Dean didn't fail to notice the revulsion in his behavior. Was he like that with everyone, or did Dean unknowingly offend him within the past 10 seconds? Dean didn't believe in the latter, so he just assumes he's one of those annoyed, fed up teenagers that's angry with life. Those are the kinds of people he just couldn't stand to be around, they're no fun at all. Sure, he may not like his life very much all the time, and he can be cranky sometimes, but he still knows how to be the life of the party.

Dean listens to the lecture for the next 15 minutes since he has nothing better to do, whilst still fidgeting with his pencil. English was his favorite subject anyways apart from construction and gym. It was the easiest for him, and didn't take much effort. Mr. Wyatt went right into talking about Shakespeare, a play he's never heard of from previous English classes. He guesses they're going to learn about a lot more new stuff this year rather than re-learning the same stuff like last semester. They'll apparently be reading a play called As You Like It by Shakespeare.

"Has anyone read this before?," Mr. Wyatt asks, as if expecting people would read this stuff in their spare time over the summer.

"I have, and I found it very enjoyable," A voice to his left speaks out. Everyone turns their head to the voice, not expecting anyone to answer. He can hear a few giggles from around the room, possibly the same giggles from the beginning of class.

"It's great to see that someone appreciate the classics, Mr. Novak. I hope you won't mind giving it a second read." Castiel flexes the corners of his lips into a bright smile. Mr. Wyatt nods in approval and gets back to his lesson.

It wasn't hard to guess who had the highest chance of being this year's teacher's pet. This guy was definitely strange if he thought reading Shakespeare's works over the summer was fun. He can also cross off being an annoyed, fed up teenager that's angry with life off the list of reasons why this kid seems to dislike him right off the bat. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy that gets easily annoyed with people after seeing his true colors. He could totally see him giving out free puppies to little children on the streets in need of a best friend, so why did they already seem to get off on the wrong foot?

He doesn't fixate on it, he didn't want to get a headache from the lack of answers during the middle of class. It was probably just him over thinking. I mean, who could dislike him? Especially when he's done nothing to them. He was a very likable person, at least the parts of himself that he shows.

Class ends, and he makes his way to math after meeting a couple of friends in the hallway, incidentally, being the reason he was late again. Dean notices that Castiel shares the first half of his own class schedule when he sees him sitting in the middle of the classroom. He takes his seat next to him since it's the only seat left, but is glad that Crowley was sitting in front of him in at least one of his classes. Overall, it was a pretty boring class, so he didn't bother listening, occasionally talking with Crowley throughout the class in secret. He could've sworn Castiel took a few side glances at him when he wasn't busy taking notes.

He then goes to lunch with Crowley by his side, and gets his tray of food, going to his usual seat with his friends already there: Alastair, Jeffrey, and Gordon. He didn't like any of them if he was being honest. Especially Alastair, he was downright creepy with his nasally voice, and was the source of pure evil. He sometimes thought of giving him the suggestion of getting his throat checked, half for jokes and the other so he wouldn't have to shiver every time he heard him talk. He almost did once, but decided not to. He was more than sure that Jeffrey had some ties with a demon, no matter how innocent he acted around the teachers and his parents. He knew something was up with him behind closed doors, but didn't think twice about it, because he really didn't care. Gordon was the most sane in the group, that is, until you pissed him off. You did not want to offend him or try to go against his word, because he wouldn't tolerate it.

They acknowledge their arrival, but carried on talking about whatever it is they were talking about as Dean sat next to Jeffrey, and as Crowley sat next to Dean. He ignores them for a minute and enjoys his lunch. The cafeteria food isn't necessarily enjoyable per se, it's just kind of similar those foods that you don't necessarily like, but for some reason, you can't stop eating it.

Dean continues to ignore them until Crowley mentions something. "Hey, has anyone else seen that new kid?" Crowley indicated, causing deep furrows in his brow.

Everyone at the table looked up at him, with knowing looks. No one sets foot in this school without being known. This school is small, just like it's town, and not enough people come here for it to be a normal thing. He doesn't bother to look, and takes a bite of his Ham and Swiss sandwich.

"He's really strange, he knows the answer to every damn question the teacher asks and talks like some college professor," he adds.

"I've seen him around the halls, I could tell he was off just looking at him," Gordon adduced, and Jeffrey agreed with a shake of the head, but too focused on his own sandwich to pitch in.

"Well, I think we should give him a nice, warm welcome," Alastair suggested, but it didn't seem like much of a suggestion.

He looked up at Alastair, who looks to be contemplating just how many ways you can greet a guy on their first day. He knew that look, and he knows Alastair's definition of a nice, warm welcome. He already feels kind of bad for the new dude. He normally doesn't care for Alastair's victims, and will even participate in some non physical way every once in awhile, but always felt for them in the end, just a bit. It's not like they deserved it, he was just going with whatever everyone else did. But hey, it's their job to stand up to dicks like Alastair, so it's not his problem. Alastair gets up from his seat, throwing a napkin into a garbage in the distance and motions them the follow his lead outside the cafeteria.

* * *

Castiel spends his lunch outside the school's cafeteria at a table no one appears to sit at. He hasn't made friends so far as expected, but he was sure everybody knew him by now, which was a weird feeling because he liked to be discreet. He took a bite out of his turkey and whole wheat sandwich, looking out at the students playing soccer on the field. He didn't like sports, they took too much physical effort, he'd rather challenge his mind. Though, he'd be lying if he said it didn't intrigue him. It looked fun from a distance, like watching a TV show without actually being in it.

His mind wanders through a series of thoughts until a certain name crossed his mind, which he knows from English class' attendance. Dean Winchester, he was a popular guy from the looks of it. He didn't look violent, but he could definitely throw a good punch or two, possibly three if he wanted to, or get his friends to pitch in if you as much talked to him in the wrong way.

He didn't like Dean Winchester already, he was the popular kid who did absolutely nothing to earn anyone's reverence, just took everyone's empty admiration and took advantage of it. He could tell there was more where he came from, and didn't take any joy in that speculation. They were the kinds of people he just didn't want to be in proximity with. Not only for his safety, but for his own sanity, he avoided them like he would any contagious disease.

Things have been pretty decent so far for his first day, but he still have his doubts. Things always seemed to be going well, but it seemed to be going well at his old school too, and that didn't turn out as planned. He expected by tomorrow that he'd be the jocks new toy, and he'd just have to deal with it until the school year was over. He was like some kind of magnet, all kinds of trouble was just attracted to him like a force of gravity, and you can't reprogram physics, he learned that the hard way.

Just before he could take another bite of his homemade turkey sandwich, a large shadow cast over him, blocking the sunlight that once situated warmly on his face, deploring silently over the loss. He looked up, and saw two figures standing in front of him.

Both looked too old to be high school seniors, but too young to have graduated. They watched him intensely, observing his every move, making him feel very uncomfortable under their gaze. They seemed to notice how uneasy he was, and gave out a laugh as if someone just told the funniest joke. He placed down his sandwich, already expectant on what was about to go down.

He looked past them and saw three other guys sitting at the table closest to him, but far enough to not have noticed before now. All of them giving their full attention to the scene, paying close regard to detail, smirking as the two in front of him burst into laughter. One of them being Dean Winchester. He was the only one not seeming to find some sadistic pleasure in the situation, but not disapproving either. He stared at Castiel with blank eyes, the corners of his mouth relaxed and remained slack. He drew a cigarette from his lips between his two fingers, sending grey smoke into the thin air, which he could barely make out from the distance. He could smell it from all the way over here.

He looked Dean in the eyes, seeming to catch him off guard as he squinted, but kept his scrutiny strong. Castiel wrinkled his eyebrows in response, thinning his mouth with distaste, seeming to get another face out of the grassy eyed boy.

He then looked over to the two in from of him awkwardly, tearing the bit too long of a gaze asunder. "Do you want something?"

As if questioning them would make a difference, all they wanted was trouble with a side of reaction. Determined not to give them one, he sat straight with fake confidence in his eyes, hoping they'd back off. He'd been through this a great number of times. It never worked, but it was always worth a try. The guy to the left chuckled again, and getting a grin out of the guy next to him.

"Nothing you can give me, I'm sure," the guy said with the most unusual, nasally voice he's ever heard.

"But maybe we can work something out." He looked at him as if some sort of agreement had already been made without his choice in the matter.

The guy next to him placed both hands on the table, leaning over and invading Castiel's personal space. "How about instead, you become our new chum?"

He flashed a supposedly benevolent smile at him, which didn't look all that friendly in his point of view. Castiel inhales and exhales through his nose a bit too loud for his self assured pretense, hadn't realized he was holding his breathe. He was nervous, not because of what was happening, he'd gone through this too many times to count. But he knew these guys and his friends meant business, and that this would only escalate, and a lot from the looks of it.

"My name is Alastair, and this is my buddy here, Gordon," the guy next to him takes over. "The guys over there: Dean, Crowley, and Jeffrey, they'll be sure to welcome you to North Vale High too", he points over his shoulder.

"I'm sure we'll get along just fine." He slaps Castiel's left upper arm with more strength than necessary, enough to leave the painful touch lingering, but not enough to leave a mark. He turns around with his friend, and walks over to the rest of the group, who seem to be satisfied with how their two friends played it off.

He looks over at Dean again. He could have sworn his heart skipped a beat when he was still looking his way, not seeming to pay attention to his friends as they made their way to the table. They continued to have this unintentional staring contest until Castiel decided to pick his stuff up and leave, that couldn't have gone any stranger.

* * *

Castiel saunters over to his locker after having lunch outside, squeezing past a group of students on the way, going to get the things he needs for the next couple of periods. After pushing his way through, he takes the lock in his hands, and keeps turning the dial until he gets the combination right, opening his locker. Before he can put his binders and his new Math textbook inside, he sees someone walk into his peripheral vision.

He looked to his right, and locks eyes with the forest green iris' from before. This guy was now apparently his locker buddy too, great. After a few seconds, the guy turns away, and grabs his lock. Way to be inconspicuous, Castiel. He fumbles with the lock in his hands and manages to get it off, holding it in his left. Once he opens his locker, he looks back up with questioning eyes.

"Hey, you're the new kid, right?" he says even though he obviously knows the answers.

"Yeah, I could only guess you didn't realize with me sitting right next to you in homeroom," Castiel mocked.

Why was he even talking to him? A guy like Dean shouldn't talk to someone like him, or at the very least, wouldn't. He didn't like people with his status, they always meant trouble. Castiel had a lifetime supply of trouble to deal with, and he wasn't determined to make room for more.

The man's eyes grew wide with shock with the sudden derision, as if it was what he least expected. As if to silently say, who knew he had it in him. Castiel's face grimaced at that.

That look only lasted a second until he chuckled through a grin.

"Hey man, sorry for attempting to make small talk," the man apologized, raising both hands defensively.

"My names Dean, Dean Winchester." Dean raised his right hand, and held it flat in front of him. He looked down at the guys held out palm in confusion, and looked back up. This had to be some kind of joke.

He couldn't help but be suspicious of what Dean wanted from him. Dean didn't look as bad as his friends, especially after they shared that intense moment of visual communication, which he didn't to be reminded of. Because that was just queer, and he meant that in both senses of the term. He was queer himself, so no harm done in that category, but he couldn't seem to find that characteristic in the boy standing next to him. Most of all, it was just uncanny how long they managed to hold their stares, and to actually find it sort of comforting in the moment after his run in with Alastair and Gordon was just plain wrong.

He knew he was still up to no good, so he kept his guard up. After the scene at lunch, he found it hard to believe he wanted to be friendly with him. It was very hard to make friends after the bullying started in his previous school, he just wasn't use to people being kind.

Just try to be nice, Castiel, and then leave for third period. "Castiel Novak, but I'm sure you didn't realize that either," Castiel responded, eyebrows furrowed together.

He held out his hand, meeting Deans calloused hand half way. Dean chuckled again, releasing his hand after a couple of shakes. He opened his bag, and took out his previously used school supplies out, and stuffed them into his locker, taking a few items from it in return, and packing it into his bag.

Castiel used this moment to continue what he came to his locker to do, and was just about to turn and leave before Dean stopped him and asked, "Hey, what classes do you have next?"

He saw curiosity in Dean's eyes, for reasons he couldn't bring himself to fathom. He didn't have any obligation to know what classes he had, but he responded anyways, if it meant he could leave for his next one soon after.

"History, then Spanish for fourth." Dean's eyebrows lifted slightly. Don't tell me we have more classes together.

"I guess I'll see you in Spanish." Damn. Dean's eyes lit up along with what looked to be his signature smile. Castiel forced a smile back at him, and took his cue to leave for his next class, hopefully giving off the impression he did not want to be around this Dean Winchester, and that he wouldn't fall for any of his tricks. Only a few seconds later does he hear an addition of footsteps among the other students behind him, going the other way.

He tried to forget his conversation with Dean, he was not delighted in the slightest to be sharing another class with him, but at least he had history to himself. Making his way to his next class, looking at his schedule for some guidance. He seemed to be on the right track from the numbers of the doors he passes, but stops when he sees a familiar fourteen year old in his vision among the crowd of students. The boy looks up with a smile, and walks over to him.

"Hey, how's your first day of highschool so far, Jester?" Castiel asked curiously. He's more than certain that he's already made a bunch of friends, met up with some of his old ones from elementary school, and made a good impression on all his teachers. Jesse was just like that, everything seemed to go perfectly well for him with his likable personality.

"I thought we decided to drop that nickname?" Jesse put on a fake expression of disapproval.

"No, you did, that kind of decision is a two way street, and I'm not ready to give it up," Castiel smiled. He knew Jesse secretly loved the name like he did, but playful complaining was just their thing.

"I'm going to have to come up with a better nickname for you." He seemed to go into deep thought before he remembered the question.

"Anyways, it's great. I really like this school, it seems like a good place." Castiel knows what he's referring to, and he gets why he'd mention it, but brushes off the topic.

"Made any new friends?" he asks just to make sure. He'd like to hear about some of his new friends briefly, and then talk some more about it at home.

Jesse takes his time to remember all of the names of the people he's met, ruling in and out who was important enough to mention. He must have made a lot if he had to try and recall them all. He looks back at Castiel with enthusiasm in his eyes, seeming to have gotten a few names in mind.

"Well, there's a lot," Jesse stated the obvious.

"But there's this guy Sam, he's really cool!" Those two must have really hit it off by his tone, he could tell they'd be best friends already. He was glad that he was enjoying his school year so far with a lot of good classmates.

"He's really smart and funny, like you in a way, just more," Castiel smiled at the half compliment.

"He even has a pocket knife!" Castiel was caught off guard by that, what kind of kid carries around a pocket knife? He's sure he wasn't dangerous by how he described him, and Jesse knew better than to befriend bad people. He puts off all of his negative thoughts towards this kid called Sam, and puts his trust in his little brother, hoping for the best in his new friend.

"And there's this girl, Jessica, she's so nice and everyone likes her!"

Castiel smirked, he seemed to have a crush on a girl already.

"Made a girlfriend on your first day too?" Castiel teased, inducing an eye roll from the younger boy, obviously not amused.

"No, and besides, Sam already called dibs." Castiel laughed at the gravitas he expressed when he said it. If Sam wasn't dangerous as he had previously anticipated, he could learn the like the kid. He was excited to hear more about him and Jessica, along with everyone else when they had the time.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I guess you'll just have to find a way to get by for the next few hours". Jesse chortles at that.

He sees some students entering the classrooms ahead of him in a hurry, and he reminds himself to ask more about his day later so he won't be late for class.

"Make sure to tell me more about it it when schools over." Jesse smiles in response and gives a small shove to his arm as he makes his way to art class. At least he thinks he has art this period from the last time he went over his schedule with him.

He walks over to his own class, and looks across the room for any unoccupied seats. He was a bit late after his talk with Jesse, but not late enough to interrupt anything. The teacher didn't seem to mind, unpacking his own books from his bag and onto his desk. He finds one in the middle of the room, but clenches his jaw when he find the only obtainable seat to be in front of Alastair. He looks around the room again to make sure he didn't miss a seat, or to see if a desk had magically appeared to make sure Castiel was comfortable in the walls of his own classroom. He couldn't afford to be picky, so he takes his seat, and could feels Alastair's eyes on him as he sits down. He tries to ignore it as the class lecture begins. He's almost forgotten about it until sometime throughout the class, something hits the back of his head. He turns around only to see Alastair suspiciously minding his own business.

"Something the matter, Mr. Novak?" the teacher called out to him in front of the class, looking at him with an impatient in his eyes. The class is silent, but he can almost hear everyone smile around him. He looked down to his right foot where he spotted a piece of crumpled paper, the one that had apparently just landed off his head.

"No, sir," Castiel informed, and turns his head back to the whiteboard. Because there really wasn't anything wrong, besides the guy behind him of course, but he could let it slide since this seemed to happen all the time.

He listened to the teacher go through the timeline of World War One, when he looked down to the ground at the piece of crumpled paper again. He looked closer, and this time, he saw a bit of writing on it. He knew Alastair was not one for taking notes, and neither was any of his acquaintances around him, so he guessed there was a note inside specifically for him. He bends down unobtrusively to pick up the note, and unfolds the white lined paper under his desk to find a messily written words across the page, which fit Alastair almost perfectly. The note read, See you after school, chum.

* * *

Dean just couldn't seem to get his mind off of Castiel as he sat in Science class, tapping the test tube in front of him continuously with his pencil, distracted in thought. He thought he was an okay guy. Sure, he could be an ass sometimes, but it's not like he actually did anything to him. He didn't participate in whatever Alastair and Gordon had done. All he remembers is that they had shared some sort of weird eye to eye communication back there, along with that look he gave him when Alastair and Gordon walked over at lunch practically screamed I hate your guts.

He was popular, and everyone liked him, what reason was there to dislike him? He tried being nice, he showed his good side. He even gave his signature smile, which he only now realizes that only worked on the girls anyways. It's not like he wanted this guy in particular to like him, he just couldn't understand why anyone wouldn't. Charm practically ran in the family, it was in the Winchester blood for people to like them, maybe not so much his father, but that's besides the point.

Science class was over, and Dean made his way to Spanish class, looking for Castiel as his eyes scanned the room. He saw him sitting in the third row near the windows, and marched over, determined to get this guy to like him, and then he'd stopped fixating over this trivial matter. They'd workout their differences over a bit of small talk, and everything would be fine, and Castiel would wonder why he ever felt dislike towards him in the first place when he showed just how charismatic he could be. He sat next to him, and attempted a glance at Castiel to get his attention, but his eyes were glued the page, reading the words from left to right, over and over again.

Dean waited for him to put the book down, trying to be polite, but figured after a couple of minutes that his book was more important than anything the world could offer him right now. There wasn't anything he could possibly do that would get the conversation going, so he decided to start off with a little lie.

With that thought, he made his move. "Hey, what are you reading?" The boy finally lifted his head up from his book, letting reality sink back in.

The second he lays his eyes on him, his eyes widen a bit in surprise, but quickly turns back to his book, and turns his book over in his hands to reveal the title.

"How To Kill A Mockingbird," Castiel remarked. What was so horrible about Mockingbirds that they had to write a book about offing them, and why did it make it onto the shelves?

"Oh, I loved that book, great taste," Dean lied. In all honesty, Castiel could have been reading any book, and he would still have no idea what it was about.

"Really?" Castiel eyebrows shot up with disbelief, scrutinizing him with suspicion.

"What was your favorite part?" Dean turned his head to think what event he could possibly associate with the book, and turned back to him.

"I liked that part where they killed that one Mockingbird near the end, it was intense",,] he tested, knowing he just screwed up as the words rolled off his lips, but covered it up with a smile.

"What about you?" He hoped that despite his most likely wrong answer, he would still share his thoughts, and keep the conversation going.

"I liked how this book had nothing to do with mockingbirds." Castiel forced a smug smiled, and turned back to his book, surely after taking in the dumbstruck look his retort left him.

This guy was ballsy, and was not to be messed with in conversation, this coming from the guy who no one would dare to screw with. This would have went so much easier if he actually read, but he knew that would never happen, no matter how much Sam encouraged him to. Dean turned and faced the front of the classroom, put his elbows on his desk, and balanced his jaw on his right hand.

He did not like me, he thought. If he tried to talk to him again, he was sure it would backfire. But Dean wouldn't stop without getting what he wants, so it wouldn't hurt to try, or at least it wouldn't hurt physically. But how in the world do you converse with a guy like this? He decided to wing it as he turned to Castiel again. Before he could say a word, a loud slam came from the other side of the room as the teacher made his way inside, and to his desk to start taking attendance.

* * *

Castiel stood in front of the school's staircase, waiting for his brother to come out the doors so they could head home on the school bus together. He was happy to have his brother in the same high school as him now that he's a freshman, but he's also worried about the events he could possibly witness in the very near future. He's seen more than a kid his age should ever lay his eyes on, and he wasn't proud of himself for that. He should have been able to protect him from all of it, but he couldn't even protect himself. He tried once, during the incident that led him to where he was today.. But he didn't want to think about that right now, so he let his thoughts drift elsewhere. He waited patiently until as he saw a group of teenagers walking towards him, pulling him out of his daydream. My bad, the very, very near future, he thought to himself.

"Well if it isn't Asstiel!," Crowley pointed out as made his way over to him.

He stopped in his tracks when he was about a few feet away from him, The whole group followed his steps, including Dean Winchester, who was standing behind them all. uHe was still in perfect view, staring at him with the same blank eyes before he turned away, paying him no mind.

"How was your first day of school?" Alastair jested, imitating the sound of a sweet, motherly voice. A voice he's never gotten to hear from his own.

"Maybe it's just me, but that doesn't seem to be any of your business," Castiel shot back. Alastair, along with Gordon, Crowley and Jeffrey laughed at Castiel's choice of words. If this is how the school year was going to be, he may as well make the most of it instead of just taking it like a little kid who didn't know how to defend himself. He refused fight back physically, even though he probably could, and that's where his sharp wit comes in.

Dean looked up as he tucked a cigarette between his upper and bottom lip as a result of his snide.

"That's no way to talk to your friends, now is it?" Alastair faked an offended expression, and looked over to his friends, looking for some support.

"No, I don't think it is, Al", Gordon agreed, crossing his arms. Crowley and Jeffrey nodded in agreement.

From Castiel's point of view, he knew that even Dean was the leader of the pack. Alastair and Gordon were the most aggressive and not to be messed with unless you wanted a black eye, and Crowley and Jeffrey were more of bystanders, but were not any less to be screwed around with. He's only been here for a day, and he feels he know the pack pretty well by now.

"You should watch your manners, kid. Wouldn't want you getting hurt for that." He almost couldn't take Alastair seriously with that off-putting, nasally tone of his, but he knew that Alastair was not to be underestimated.

"And I think you should get a doctor to check out that voice box of yours," Castiel snarked, hearing a few snickers from his friends, Dean's appearing to be the most distinct. He was both proud and regretful the moment it slipped his tongue.

Alastair grabbed the neck of his shirt with his fist, and pulled him closer with force to the point where he could feel the light touch of Alastair's breath on his skin. When was the last time he brushed his teeth?

He grabbed Alastair's forearm as to help his balance. Everyone around them seemed to have stopped whatever they were doing to pay attention to what was going on, probably thinking who was going to throw the first punch.

"Watch your mouth," Alastair chided him, looking straight into his eyes, making sure to emphasize and pause between each syllable.

Castiel didn't respond, just stared at Alastair as he let out exhales of rage. Maybe he shouldn't have fought back, because now he was on Alastair's bad side, and he'd rather not be near him at all. But he couldn't take it back, and he's not sure he cares as much as he should.

"Cas?," a small voice fretted from behind. Castiel knew who it was, only one person called him by that name. Alastair look over Cas' shoulder, and snickered as he eyed the younger boy.

He shoved Castiel back with force, almost sending him off balance, but managed to keep on his feet. Jesse ran to his side, and staring anxiously at the tall boy in front of him.

"Next time, choose your words wisely." Alastair walked away after giving him a powerful stare down, his friends following behind him. Dean followed his lead too, but with one sparing glance back at him before heading off. He's not sure what it was with Dean, and why he keeps looking at him, but he doesn't ponder on it.

"What was that?" Jesse questioned. He would never lie to his brother, and he knows he shouldn't. But when it comes to matters like this, he chooses to keep his brother out of it, it was for his own good. Castiel could deal with it alone like last time, and he didn't want to worry him.

"Nothing Jesse, alright? Don't worry about it, those guys are jerks to everyone." He resettled his backpack strap over his shoulder, having been shifted from Alastair's threatening behaviour. He looks up to see the group walking down the sidewalk, almost out of view. Dean isn't with them this time, he wonders why, and how he managed to take off so quick.

"I don't care if they're jerks to everyone, it's happening again."

Jesse looked perturbed after just witnessing what he had, and he couldn't blame him. If he saw his older brother, in this case Gabriel, getting threatened after having dealt with so much physical and emotional pain, he'd be uneasy too, letting his mind stray from positive thought to the worse case scenarios.

"I'm fine Jesse, I'm the one who started it by insulting him, I can handle it from now on."

"You mean with your face like last time?" he ended the conversation as he started to walk towards the bus without him.

"Jesse.." Cas trailed off. He knew his brother meant well, but there wasn't much he, or either of them could do about it, especially when he was so young. He followed his brother into the bus and was a bit surprised to see that Jesse had set his backpack down beside him on the seat, preventing anyone from sitting next to him. He frowned at that. He didn't want things to be like this, but all he could do was give his brother some space and time to think. So instead of bothering him, he takes the seat on the other side of the bus closest to his brother.

He gave his little brother another glance until he decided it would be better to look out the window for the rest of the ride.


	2. Mare's Nest

Dean walked over to his Impala after observing Alastair's and Castiel's 'chat'. The kid was ballsy as well as brave, he'd give him that. So far, he had complimented the guy twice today, and that's more than he complimented anyone in more than months. For some reason, he couldn't think without thoughts of the new guy popping into his brain. He didn't know whether it was his eccentricity, or the fact that he seemed to dislike him, maybe both. Or maybe it was the fact that they both managed to keep a gratuitous staring competition without awkwardness. Either way, the guy was weird, and he hoped to leave it at that. He opened the front door, and sat in the driver's seat, with Sam already positioned on his right. Ready to step on the gas.

"What was that about? The fight outside," Sam spoke. Even if he didn't have front row seats, he must have somehow been able to see in from the car.

"Nothing, just Alastair picking on the new guy".

Sam already knew how Dean's friends were, so it was no surprise. He didn't approve of his relations with the guy, but he accepted it since he knew Dean wasn't like him, nor was he easy to influence. He couldn't tolerate bullying, but it's not like there was anything he could do to stop it, so he kept quiet about it.

"On his first day? I feel bad for him," Sam frowns.

"Well, life isn't always easy, we can't feel bad for everyone who's having a rough day." Sam has always been the one to have sympathy for others, he couldn't imagine him not feeling sorry for the guy.

"But still, you could've stopped it." It's true, he could have stopped it, but would he have? Probably not under the circumstances. However, if he wasn't in front of his friends with a couple dozen students looking their way, maybe he might have.

"Sammy, you know how it is, Alastair does what he wants. I don't like it either, but there's not much I can do for him."

"You're strong enough to take him on, so why not?" he complains.

Sam looks out the window, back at the place where Castiel use to be standing, now seeming to have walked away.

"Once you go through your high schools days, I'm sure you'll find out yourself."

"Plus, the guy is weird, helping him wouldn't do good for my rep either," he adds with honesty.

"There's a new guy in my class too," Sam looks back at him.

"Two new students in one day, that's weird. Think they're brothers?"

He never met the smaller one, but he didn't have to. It was too much of a coincidence for them to not be related. He still didn't jump to any conclusions though, there was a slight chance that he could be wrong.

"Not sure, he didn't mention having one, but then again, I didn't ask."

"Well, anyways, that's great. Hope he isn't as strange as the other one. You're weird enough already, and I don't want you having any more influences". Sam laughed.

"He's not, he's actually really awesome, I think we'd make good friends."

A smile stretched across his cheeks, it was good that he was making friends, not that he ever had much trouble with it.

"That's good." Dean lowers his foot to the gas pedal, and backs his car out of the parking space he claimed over the past semesters. Everyone knew that this was Dean's parking space, and Deans alone, no one tried to take it from him.

They talk on the ride back home about their day, about Sam's new friends and teachers, telling him about the incident in second period, having Dean bursting out with laughter. Wherever the Winchesters went, they always had a story to tell, it was both a blessing and a curse.

Dean parks in front of his house, and makes his way to the front door. It was already unlocked since this is the time his father was usually home, so he doesn't bother taking out his keys. He steps inside, Sam trailing behind him. The first thing he sees his father sprawled on the kitchen floor, with a half drunken bottle of beer gripped loosely in his hands due to his boozy state. His eyes were closed shut, he must have passed out. He sighs, closing his fingers around his school bag strap hung over his shoulder.

He was use to seeing him like this, but that didn't mean he enjoyed having to deal with him. He mouths Sam a few words, and cues his little brother to go upstairs, just in case. Sam knows the drill, and goes up to his room, ready to lock his door if it got too loud. He doesn't ever want Sam near him when he's intoxicated, and deals with him alone whenever he can. He seemed quite harmless now, but that was always how it started off. In a few days, he'd probably start yelling at plants for dying, because it provoked unpleasant thoughts of his deceased wife. John wasn't necessarily aggressive and hostile, but whenever he was in one of his occasional moods and facing a predicament, no matter how small, he wouldn't hesitate to use violence as an answer, even if the problem facing him was his own son.

This happened periodically during certain times of the year that reminded him of his late mother, but he couldn't figure out what the occasion was this time. Whether it was the anniversary of her death, the day they shared their wedding vows, or hell, even their first date.

Dean walked over to the his vulnerable father, and crouched down, lowering himself to the floor, just arms width apart. He gave his old man a sympathetic look. Mary's death really hit him hard, and he was dealing with it best he could, through whiskey and belligerence. He tapped him on the shoulder, and gave him a few shakes, testing to see just how unconscious he was.

"Dad?," Dean whispered, just enough to be heard, but trying not to speak too loudly, in case he preferred some peace and quiet. He gave another shake, rougher this time, earning a silent mutter.

"Dad, it's time to get up."

John blinked his eyes open, adjusting himself to the daylight shone from the window, slowly turning his head, just enough to get Dean in his vision.

"Leave me here," John murmured.

He observed him for a bit, hoping he'd think over his response, and let Dean help him up.

"You can't sleep on the floor," he explained. He'd done it more times to count, he's even found him sleeping on the grass outside all night once, but wanted John to take care of himself more. He was a bad parent, sure, but he was his father, and he wanted best for him, especially when he was suffering so much. He wanted to make sure he was a good son too, for the man John use to be.

"Leave me alone."

He turned his head back to it's foregoing position, his right cheek colliding with the cold floor boards below. Dean reached both arms out, tightly gripping his father's firm shoulders to lift his upper body from the ground, holding him up, letting his father's arm fall over his shoulders to keep him balanced.

"Stop." He could tell John was purposely putting all his weight on him, but he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Let's get you to the couch, okay?" He tried to speak as soothing as he could to try and keep him submissive, but kept his voice powerful, hoping John would find reason within his words.

He continued to walk his way over to the old, tattered couch, holding John's arm in place around his neck.

"I said, stop!"

John broke free, and used what appeared to be the last of his strength to throw a good punch to Dean's left jaw. John loses his footing, but keeps stable, sending Dean to the ground with his sudden reaction. Dean rubs his good hand over the physically abused area, noticing some smeared blood on his finger tip that he imagined was from a cut on his lip.

He looks back up to his father, who stared at him blankly, with a smidgen of guilt and venom, thinly layering his face.

"Sorry, son," John apologized. It was half empty, but he knew his father was trying, so he accepted it. It's happened before, so it didn't affect him as much anymore. A hit to the face wasn't his worse, and definitely wasn't his best when he wanted to start a fight.

Dean didn't respond. If he didn't want his help, fine, who needed his help anyways? He certainly didn't need it when he made Sam his responsibility, and surely didn't want his help in keeping this roof over their heads as he worked his ass off to pay the bills the man couldn't undertake on his own. He's done so much for this family, and he was never thanked, not even once for his for his efforts To protect Sammy like he was always told to, and to take care of his poor excuse of a father when he couldn't even function right.

He knew his brother appreciated everything he's done, but it's not like he knew all of it, and everything he went through because of his father. Was it so wrong to just want some recognition? Maybe he was just being selfish, wanting something from a man who would never give it to him. He was popular at school, and everyone liked him. Everyone who as much knew him could see his value, so he didn't need his father's thanks. Everyone else's fondness towards him was enough, or so he convinced himself.

Dean got back up to his feet, and continued to stare down his father. When he couldn't take the sight of him any more, he walked past him and left for his room.

That could have gone much worse, he thought to himself, as if it could make it any better. He was glad it didn't, he'd rather not deal with anymore of his father's shit today. He walked across the oak wood floor to drop his bag next to his desk, removing his leather jacket in a quick motion. Throwing it onto his bed, he continued to advance his way to his closet. He took out his work uniform and held it out in front of him. Just a simple black t-shirt with a slogan on it, nothing that unique.

Setting it aside, he removes the clothing from his upper body, keeping his pants on since there wasn't any work pants required. He slid on the t-shirt, grabbing a dark red and black checkered plaid shirt to wear over it, slightly faded over the years of use. He put back on his jacket, and went to the bathroom to check out his new shiner before heading out.

He placed his grip onto the sink's surface, and leaned over to get a better look at his face. He ran his fingers softly over the swelling. It was just starting to form a bruise from the yellow shading. He grabbed a tissue from the countertop, and rubbed it over the small wound on his lips, soaking the little blood that trickled down in red. He threw the tissue in the garbage, and gave one last glance.

It wasn't too bad at the moment, noticeable if you looked him right in the face, but not eye catching if you paid him no attention. Instead of walking out the front door, he went out the back to avoid being in the same room as John. He stepped into his car, and drove off to the Roadhouse where he worked, which wasn't too far away.

He stepped into the Roadhouse, and was not surprised to see that it wasn't too busy. Just a bit more than a few people hunched over the counter with glasses of alcohol, and a couple groups of teenagers sitting with their friends at the tables near the back. It was never as busy on Mondays rather than the other days he worked, he was glad for it since it meant he could have an easy day at work on the first day of school.

Ash was serving them, and didn't notice Dean walk in. Jo on the other hand was happy to see him, but he could tell that she noticed the discoloration of his face. Jo was always very vigilant that way and aware of her surroundings, which was why she was invulnerable to pickpocketing, a few insidious individuals learned that the hard way. No one was able to get past her hawk like eyes, not even him.

He walked over to her, and began his shift, chatting with Jo as he poured beverages for those who walked in. He worked on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from three to eight thirty, almost right after school which ended at two. He'd also sometimes work on Tuesdays and Thursdays, it was always a mystery if he'd be in then or not. Ellen wasn't strict with the schedule because of how slow their business usually was, so she didn't mind them coming in late or taking a day off as long as a couple of people were there to watch the place. Sometimes he'd even work longer shifts on Saturdays or Sundays if he was needed, or if he had nothing else to do. Work was just like that at the Roadhouse, it was always unpredictable.

He thought Jo had brushed off the topic he was trying to avoid as they both sat in a table at the back with two glasses of alcohol, waiting for their shift to end. Jo took on longer shifts since she essentially lived in the Roadhouse, so they ended at the same time. Ash also slept at the Roadhouse a lot, so he worked just about the same hours as Jo on most days, but left early today. He had almost forgotten about the incident that occurred earlier until Jo gestured with a lift of the chin to the side of his face that still stung from the impact of John's fist.

"An old lady smack you in the head or something?" she joked.

"I could've sworn her purse was full of bricks with how heavy that thing was." Jo laughed.

Dean took a sip from his glass, and savored the taste as it seeped down his throat.

"Got into another fight at school?"

He knew where she was heading, and he didn't want to talk about it. Jo was part family, so she knew from Bobby and Ellen that his father 'use' to beat him. It's still happened from time to time, but he managed to play it off as fights from school, and it wasn't hard for them to believe.

"Just some idiots who couldn't take a joke, nothing serious." He took another sip of beer that was nearly finished.

"Tell me you at least got a good punch in?" He chuckled.

"Now you sound like bobby."

She placed down her glass in front of her, smiling at the crystal like shapes wrapped in her thin fingers.

"He does say that he's rubbed off on me, and I'd be lying if I said I disagreed."

"Was it really a fight from school?", she added to make sure, because she knew Dean had a penchant for lying when he was in a plight, and was always stubborn to ask for the help he needed.

"Yeah, Jo, what else would it be?" he asked, hoping she wouldn't bring it up.

She opened her mouth as to say something, when Dean interjected.

"Don't even say it." He took his last sip of the brown liquid as it passed his lips, silently aching for the loss.

"But you know, if it ever does happen again, you could always come to us about it. Bobby is always worried about you and Sam." He knew he was worried, especially when he started taking matters into his own hands at the age of fourteen. Even before that, he couldn't stand what their father had put them through.

"I know, Jo, but we're fine, really." He wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or not, but at the moment, he thought he was. In actuality, he just couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

"You sure?" Jo continued.

"Yes, I'm sure." She seemed satisfied with his answer after a couple long seconds, and exhaled all her worries. She looked over to the clock behind him, seeming to come to the realization of something.

"Looks like our shifts are over," she smiled, looking as though she has already forgotten about their talk. The violence that went on in there house wasn't talked about much anymore due to the infrequency of it and his skillful mendacity, so he wasn't surprised.

"I guess it is," he commented as he looked back to the clock. He could have left earlier since there weren't as many people left to serve, but he decided to stay and have a drink, and he didn't even have to ask Jo to give him the company.

"I'll see you tomorrow at school, Jo," he waved as he stood up from his seat, heading towards the door.

"You too, hopefully without another bruise to add to your collection," she warned.

* * *

Jesse seemed to have calmed down after the confrontation at school, but Castiel decided to leave his brother alone at home for a bit as he went out for a walk. He himself wanted to think things through, and prepare himself for the next day at school, as well as get use to the area. The sky was almost turning dusk as he stood out of the doorway, meaning he should probably be back in half an hour tops to make dinner for the both of them.

It was pretty chilly, much colder than it had been this morning, so he made sure to bring his coat with him. It was his father's trench coat that he stopped using, and always left it at the back of his closet to catch dust. He noticed earlier today while unpacking that he's never seen him wear it, and since he was in need of a new jacket, he decided to make use of it. It hung right down to his knees, and the sleeves went a bit past his wrists. It was a slightly big for him, but it wasn't a big deal since it wasn't too noticeable. He was sure his father wouldn't mind, he didn't even notice when Jesse broke one of his expensive vases. It was a year ago since then, and if he did realize, then he hasn't brung it up.

He strolled on the secluded sidewalk for a while until he came across a park, pulling himself to a stop to admire the quaint view. It was small, and he could tell it was barely in use anymore with how run-down it looked. It still had it's charm though, he could tell it was a memorable place for many childhoods. There was a small swing set edging the middle of the field, with a rusty slide beside it, dwindling in color. In front of the sidewalk that split the field in two was a bench, where a couple of birds decided to make themselves at home with.

He walked over across the dead street and over to the swing set. His glided his fingers across the chained metal, and gave it a tug to make sure it was still stable. He was surprised to see that it was still in good shape from how worn-out it looked. He sat on the swing, and tested in a few short swings, still skeptical on the condition of it. Once he was convinced that it was usable, he gave more confident sways, but still kept a slow, relaxing pace.

It was a calming way to just think, or not think at all if he wasn't in the mood. He used to do it a lot as a kid, we wondered why he stopped. Maybe he should bring Jesse with him next time he decides to come here.

After what seemed like several minutes passed of deep thought, rocking back and forth in the peace and quiet, his introspection was interrupted by the buzz of his cell phone against his thigh. He took his phone out of his jeans pocket, and looked at the caller ID. If he remembered correctly, it was their new home phone number. He accepted the call, and placed his phone against his ear.

"Cas?" Jesse voice spoke through.

"Hey Jesse, what's going on?"

"I should be the one asking you that, where have you been?" Castiel got up from the swing seat as he listened to his brother through the device, putting his other hand in his coat pocket to keep it warm from the cold wind.

"Just at this park nearby, why do you ask?"

"You've been gone for over an hour. Just thought I'd let you know before you wake up with bird poop on your face." Castiel huffed a laugh at that. Then he'd noticed that is was actually already dusk out, he should've been home by now, he was suppose to make dinner today. He cursed his one track mind sometimes, it always got him into troubling situations. Jesse must have been hungry.

"Shit, sorry Jesse, I didn't realize the time," he swore, a bit disappointed in himself for not keeping track of track of how long he'd been out.

"Shit is quite right," he repeated,

"Who gave you permission to swear?" he asked in a way that you could hear his smile through his tone.

Jesse was never one to use profanity in his vocabulary, other than when he wanted to bug his big brother, and to call him out on the, as he says, 'horrible impact he had on his life'.

"No one, but I do have a very bad influence in my house." And there goes the innocent card.

"Well, try not to let him rub off on you too much." He smiled and looked up at the sky, appreciating the dark, dusky color.

"It's too late, I've already become such a big nerd because of him," he says as though an insult, when he would in actuality proudly take it as an achievement. He chuckled and bent his right knee for a comforting stance.

"Right, well he must have taught you well from the looks of it. Anyways, I'll be home soon, with a swear jar this time."

"Hey-!" Jesse's voice cut off.

He ended the call before Jesse could have the satisfaction of another comeback. He simply just adored messing with him, it was one of the great joys in his life. He was the only one, at least at the current time, he was comfortable having a good banter with. His old friends were long gone, and he hasn't had a one since.

He put his phone in his coat pocket this time to give warmth to his other hand as he stuck it in. Walking off the field and onto the sidewalk just alongside it, and looked both ways across the street before going over to the opposite side. He took a right turn like he remembered from his walk, and continued down the street. It was pretty late, but not too dark. Just dark enough to be glad his brother warned him at the given time. It was just passed dusk, and It was quite lovely. With the streetlights to light the way, it was very pleasing to the eye.

It was all going well, enjoying the scenery, until he came across a certain street. He did not remember this street name. Did he go the right way? Maybe he took a wrong turn, or maybe he just forgot the street name. He looked back, and wasn't sure if he was heading the right way or not. He was sure it was this way, but he turned to head to the other end of the street just in case. He didn't recognize this street either. He was screwed, he should have been paying more attention during his walk to the park.

He was on the edge of hopelessness before he heard a car engine and the faint tune of rock getting closer from behind him. He let out a relieved breath, maybe he could ask for directions. Before the driver could bypass him, he yelled out to get his awareness.

"Hey, excuse me!" he called out, raising his arm as you would to a cab driver, hoping the guy was nice enough to stop for him.

He slowly pulled his old fashioned black car to a stop in front of him, and turned down the music soon after until it was just background noise. In the process of rolling down his windows, Castiel spoke.

"Thank you so much for stopping, if it wasn't any trouble, I'd like to-" his voice broke when he saw the man's complexion, recognizable enough to steal the sound from his throat. It was none other than the guy at school today, Dean Winchester.

The man in the car looked at him with surprise in his eyes, but then an ambiguous smile grew wide on his face, stretching across his cheeks. It was then he noticed the slight nuance on the left side of his face, and the small cut on his lip. He acted as if it hadn't been there at all, but it was quite noticeable from his point of view, if you really looked at it that is. Castiel was proud to say he had good eyes, so maybe it hadn't been as prominent as he first anticipated.

It was shaded red, and his lips had already stopped bleeding, leaving just a trace of dry blood. It seemed like a fresh hit, something he'd picked up on from treating his own wounds. He was curious, but he was in no position to ask. He assumed it was from a fight after school that he hadn't been around to see, and was glad he wasn't around when it happened. He had a bad habit in unintentionally getting in the middle of things, or being the unwanted main attraction.

"Oh hey, it's Castiel, right?" His voice gave off an upright friendly tone, but he wasn't buying it, still bring quite wary of him. Even if he appeared to be a nice guy, he couldn't bring himself to believe it just because it showed on his face. If he did in fact judge him wrongly, he still wasn't too fond of his character and standing.

"Yeah, uhm, that's correct." He gulped.

Shuffling awkwardly on the cement, he regretted ever asking for help in the first place.

"So, what are you doing out here, yelling at strangers?" he questioned, interest brightening his eyes.

"I wouldn't call it yelling, just getting the attention of.." he began to explain, but stopped upon noticing the bemused look overtaking Dean's face.

"I got lost, I just needed some directions," he admitted, gesturing with his hands unconsciously.

Dean sat in silence, nodding his head just faintly at the new information learned, encouraging him to go on.

"But it's fine, I could find my way back, sorry for the diminutive diversion." He didn't trust Dean enough to lead his way back home. If he was kind enough to give him anything, he expected an inaccurate route back, getting him even more lost than he already was just for laughs. He would admit that he was a better guy than any of his friends seemed, but that didn't reward him with his trust, especially when he was such a cynical person. If he was alright with being friends with a group of lowlifes, then he probably was one at heart.

"The what?" he asked, leaning his head out the window, tilting his head ever so slightly, obviously not understanding the latter part of what his response.

"Nothing, you can just get back to whatever you were doing." He flashed a vague smile, and continued back to his hopeless journey. He thought he made his getaway when he heard the car start up again. He looked over to his side and saw him driving slowly beside him, keeping his pace.

"Hey, hey, wait. You said you needed directions?" he pushed. Why was he being so forward about this? He would have expected him to leave by now in disinterest, unless he was just that determined to give him a false way to follow.

"Yeah, but it's fine, really". It really was fine, he didn't want his help. He would probably find a much more trustworthy driver to ask along his dithering trek.

"It's obviously not if you had to ask for help, just tell me where you need to go." He sounded irked now, and probably even more determined at the challenge. He looked at Dean who was eyeing him from his seat, and he was right. He was not going to drive off without giving him the getting what he wanted.

He sighed, stopping in his steps, the car beside him doing so as well. He gave it some thought, and came to the conclusion that if he was going to get this guy to leave, he may as well play along.

"Barnes Avenue, I'd be able to manage myself from there." He noticed the smug, satisfied look that struck his face. If it weren't for the obvious fist fight memento, he would say that he looked quite friendly if not welcoming with that look. But he was sure misreading and trusting him was the first step in becoming his next victim, so he erased that thought and went with what his logical reasoning was telling him.

"Alright, hop on in," he motioned to the passenger side and leaned back casually in his seat.

"What?" He turned to him with creased eyebrows, lips separating in confusion.

"I'll give you a ride, free of charge," he looked back up to him with a grin.

Castiel froze, unsure of what to do. He might have tried giving his directions a shot, but getting in the car with the school's leader of assbutt's was not a choice in the matter. And yes, he was now referring to them as assbutt's, especially their headman.

"But I-" he complained, completely incredulous at the offer before him. Before Cas could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by Dean's self assertion.

"It's fine, just get in, I'm passing near that street anyways," he could tell Dean was growing impatient, so he decided to just humor him before he got on his bad side. He was already on Alastair's, he didn't want to be between both the two, because that would be utterly suffocating.

"Alright," he agreed.

Trying to ignore Deans triumphant manner, he made his way around the car to the passenger side, claiming shotgun. He didn't realize until now, but even though he didn't know Dean too well, the car seemed suitable for him. He didn't know much about vehicles, but knew enough to know it was some kind of classic.

Dean gave him a smile, then hit the gas, and they were on their way.

Cas looked out the window for the entire first few minutes of the ride. He could tell he was causing dean discomfort without even looking at him, and could practically smell the tense atmosphere surrounding them, making it hard to speak. Castiel was a quiet guy, and was content with it. He didn't feel the need to talk all the time, but sitting here with Dean felt unnerving, like he needed to talk the quiet away that filled the car. But Dean spoke first, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"So, why'd you decide to move here to North Vale High?" Castiel looked up to him as his heart dropped in his chest. Dean probably thought it was a good conversation starter, but it was the most complex, personal question anyone could have asked him right now. He didn't think it would be very appropriate and conventional to say 'I was recently hospitalized due to perpetual bullying, and was expelled for fighting back, which resulted from the blame being thrown onto me unfairly' to someone he was unfamiliar with, especially one who had a lot of people to tell his story to. He didn't want to seem like he didn't appreciate the effort he made into driving him home, for whatever reason he had, so he lied instead.

"Well, my father had to move due to his line of work," he says as he rubs the anxiety of his bare neck with his hand. That was the best lie he could come up with. He thought it was believable, even if typical.

"What does he do?" he asked, trying to carry on the conversation that seemed to want to drop from of their hands.

"He's a lawyer."

That wasn't a lie this time. He doesn't enjoy talking about his father very much, but goes along with it. Dean seemed to be impressed with his answer, giving a nod with his head.

It soon went back to silence, but it's not as awkward this time. He stares out the window, and takes in the sight of trees and houses as they pass by. They let the quiet pervade the inside of the car with the background noise of classic rock music. Castiel was never that big on music, but he could definitely get use to this song. He's never heard the tune before, and he doesn't recognize the singer, but he can tell from Dean's light tapping against the steering wheel that he knew it well enough to sing along.

He was growing to quite like this particular song. He considered asking Dean what it was, but he didn't want to talk much at all with him. Music was a big topic, he didn't want to risk starting up a conversation that revolved around something that seemed to interest Dean a lot. Maybe he'd try and look it up in his spare time instead, but only pure luck would be able to let him find it.

And with that thought, he hears the mumbles of Dean's voice, humming to the lyrics when the chorus starts to play again through the radio. It's quiet enough to ignore, but loud enough to draw his attention. He looks over to him curiously. His eyes were on the road, with his lips just barely moving, too immersed in the song to realize he was under observation. Dean looks over to him just once, and puts his mouth to an immediate stop, turning his gaze back to the road as it that didn't just happen, and Castiel does the same.

He never knew Dean was the type to worry over something like that. Castiel would have definitely been embarrassed if he was caught singing to himself, but Dean? He would have expected him to turn those mumbles into words, reciting them with confidence. Maybe he would have, but not with a stranger like Castiel. He knew he emitted weird vibes, and they obviously weren't on the road of becoming good friends, so he would understand if that was the case.

Dean looks over to him again, hesitance overwhelming his face. Dean gives another attempt, but keeps his mouth shut, preventing the words from slipping his tongue. Castiel let out a small breath of vexation. If he had to say something, why couldn't he just say it? In fact, why did he have to go through the trouble of driving him home in the first place if this was how the car ride was going to be? He didn't seem to be misguiding him, he recognized a street that meant he was close to home already.

He was confused as to why a guy like him would not only try to converse with him in school, but also give him a lift back to his house like they were on well enough terms. He wasn't sure what Dean wanted from him, but he was sure it was nothing he'd want to give. He didn't want to get on Dean's bad side, but then again, he'd rather set things straight than be led on by a guy who meant no good.

Because no matter how much Castiel disliked the guy, he had a habit of getting attached to things more than he should have. He was a cynic, yet a hopeless believer, which often went afoul and always caused him difficulty in seeing another's integrity and true intentions. He had a hard time resisting what was right in front of him when he grew particularly fond of something, and that was why he couldn't be led on. He would only make the mistake to trust someone, only to get hurt again. He was more than sure that Dean was not someone he would ever let into his life, but it was habitual to take caution.

"Look, Dean, I have no idea what game you're playing, but I'm not interested," he blurted.

Dean turned his head and met his eyes, a pair of colors that he's met so often in just one say that he was sure he'd recognize the exact shade from a mile away. He squinted them in confusion, as if to pretend he had no idea what he was talking about. So, Castiel decided to make it clear for him.

"I'm not going to fall for it, so can you please just stop whatever this is that you're trying to do?". If he was going to end this, he may as well go all the way.

"What are you talking about?" Castiel rolled his eyes.

"You know what I'm talking about."

His heart started beating so fast, he was sure it was about to pop. He didn't know what to expect from this guy after telling him off. If he truly had malicious motives in being amiable and showing benevolence to him, then he didn't want to know how he was really like without this mask of his.

"I know that you're really pushing yourself here: Talking to me, being nice, driving me home. I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just saying you don't have to."

Dean continued to look at him, completely incredulous. Was it that hard to believe that someone just didn't want to be around him? Especially when he was friends with the guy who had great potential in being his new bully.

"Right," Dean muttered and turned his vision to the road. He could feel the tension in the air the long seconds passed, and he was actually content with it this time. He'd rather not talk than try to converse with a man he had no interest in, and he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. He could already tell the mask was starting to wear off as the gentle look the man once had dropped from his face, leaving him with a subdued mien of irritation. When the car drove to a stop not even a minute later, he was confused as to why until he noticed they were on the street their house resided on.

He gave another look to the man next to him. Dean's face was a bit more relaxed, but he knew from the looks of him that he didn't appreciate his response very much. He really hoped that his speculation of him not being as bad as his friends was right, because he didn't want to have to deal with him along with the rest of the group. Alastair already had it in for him, he wasn't too sure how he's feel if Dean held a grudge against him too. But he didn't regret his words too much, he'd rather stick with doing what he felt was right as opposed to being wrongfully led on with kindness.

"Thank you for the lift," he said, trying to ease the guy behind the wheel. He wasn't sure why his rejection had affected him the way it had, but he couldn't find it in him to care. He made his way out of the passenger door, and watched as the car drove away immediately when he closed the door.

* * *

Castiel was walking through the slightly deserted hallways, making his way to History class after retrieving everything he needed from his locker. The bell had rung just a minute ago, and everyone was already making their way to class if not already present. He was late due to talking with his Math teacher, congratulating him on his over one hundred percent test score. He's gotten a few tests handed back like that before, but it still never failed to take him by surprise. Instead of going the fastest route to class where he would usually meet up with Jesse on the way, he decided after a couple of days that it was best to go the longer way.

They both had very different schedules that prevented them from seeing each other other than before third period. He met Alastair more often in the halls than he would his own brother, and he really didn't Jesse to catch him in such situations. His brother was already worried enough for him despite how well he hid his feelings. It's been a week since the bullying started again, but it hadn't gotten as far as beating him up yet, which he was glad for.

At least he didn't have to try and hide his wounds and suffering from Jesse, even if temporarily. It was mainly just the usual shoving and name calling, and that he could manage with a believable smile on his face. He was use to it, it didn't affect him as much as it use to, even if it still hurt.

He was in a rush, and payed no mind to the fact that Dean wasn't there beside him today at their lockers. It's been a week since his last official interaction with Dean, as expected due to his rejection. Dean made no more attempts to reach out to him during school, or after for that matter. He downright pretended he didn't exist, other than the times Alastair and his friends decided to chat him up. He wouldn't participate which Castiel found odd. He would just stand there with indifference imbuing his face, looking at him like he really couldn't care less, like Castiel wasn't even worth the effort.

He knew he wasn't as violent as his friends, but he had expected something from him, anything really, even just a simple contemptuous remark. There was something else in his mien though, something he couldn't quite discern. He came to the conclusion that he was just overthinking it, because why would Dean have a problem with him? Sure, he gave a very blatant opinion on the situation that was at hand, but it's not like Dean had actually wanted to befriend him. If he did, which he found hard to believe, it's not like he was so special and important that his rejection would bother him in such a way.

However, he would occasionally catch Dean looking at him throughout class when he thought he was too focused on the lecture to notice, and he knew he wasn't over analyzing that. Because he was very aware, but also confused as to why he still caught his attention like that. He made no effort to look back, just continued his laborious task at keeping his attention towards the whiteboard as green eyes continued to scrutinize him.

He walked down the halls with pace as he held his books to his chest, trying to speed up his steps so he wouldn't be as late as he expected he'd be. Most students were pretty much in their rightful classrooms, just a few heading in at the last minute. He almost stopped in his steps when he saw Alastair walk through the doors of the staircase, along with Dean and his other friends. He didn't though, just hushed his steps and looked down, trying in his best efforts to be inconspicuous, hoping they'd go down the other hall without noticing him. That hope only lasted a few seconds until he heard a group of footsteps heading towards him.

"Hey, Cassie!" Alastair broke in. Cas closed his eyes with a sigh leaving his lips.

He didn't look up, just continued to avoid him as he ambled down the hall. It wasn't an effective counter attack as it obviously wouldn't preclude the inevitable, but it was always worth the shot.

"Hey now, no need to give the cold shoulder to your friends!" he laughed.

Alastair walked closer to him as he put his feet to a halt, suggesting that Castiel should probably stop too. He normally would have unconsciously complied with that, but not this time. He was done being the coward that was too afraid to fight back. He doubt he'd throw another punch like last time, because look at where that got him, but he didn't want to just take it like he couldn't act on his own anymore. He was done with appearing weaker than he really was, someone who could just be stepped on without consequence. He didn't care if he ended up with a bruised cheek, he just didn't want to be like how he was before.

With that, he continued to walk in a calm pace, this time looking Alastair in the eyes as a fair warning that he shouldn't mess him. He wasn't sure how convincing it was on the other end, but he had hoped that they would at least eventually get tired of his attitude and possibly leave him alone, although, he knew that wasn't likely. He averted his gaze from Alastair and locked eyes with Dean, who was once again, staring right at him, and he couldn't help but squint his eyes in return.

Why was he always looking at him? He turned his focus towards the end of the hall, making that his goal. Before he could even attempt to execute it, his would upper arms were gripped tightly with long and bony hands. The next thing he knew, the back of his head collided with a set of lockers, causing a temporary blur.

He closed his eyes shut to try and ease the effects, and when he blinked them open again, Alastair was right in front of him, holding him against the blue shades lockers. He pushed him against them so hard that he wouldn't be surprised if it caused any sort of dents in the rusted metal. Behind him to the left was Jeffrey and Gordon. On his right was Crowley and Dean.

"Did you just ignore me?" Alastair asked, annoyance now formed in his eyes.

Castiel wanted to look away, but his glare made it hard to avert his eyes. He tried to release his arms from his grasp, but Alastair had him pretty much stuck in place, giving him no escape. His stare soon become too much, making him feel insecure to the knees, and found just enough courage in him the break the eye contact.

"Are your lips glued together or something?" Alastair was getting more disgruntled with him, but the fear and anxiety took over him like every time, and he couldn't bring himself to speak. He gulped, drowning the words that wouldn't come up.

"Don't play mute, I know you can talk," he commanded.

The grip on his arms grew tight and unyielding, and the skin under the two hands begun to sting. He couldn't see from under them, but he was sure that the light beige color was starting to shade red from the firm contact. He took this as his cue to look back up at Alastair, whose stare was now persistent in making Castiel uncomfortable as possible. He was lost for words, but the fear in him made him speak.

"You're the last person I'd want to talk with, Alastair," he blurted. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea to speak contemptuously considering his current position in the situation, but he didn't know what else to say. He'd rather be brave than not speak at all, or say something weak or stupid.

"So he finally speaks." The corners of his lips grew broad and formed a smile, not bothering to hide his yellow teeth.

"A bit rude though, we ought to work on that," he continued as his smile became slack, lips meeting at a straight line.

Alastair repositioned his left hand to sit tight on his shoulder, and drew his good arm back, sending his fist forward to his stomach, earning a painful groan. His upper body leaned forward a bit to ease the unwarranted pain, but Alastair shoved him back up against the lockers once again, not giving him even a second to ease the throbbing sensation. He closed his eyes again, giving himself a moment to adjust to the feeling, letting out a silent sob. He was use to this, he could take it.

Castiel clenched his teeth, trying as hard as possible not to show the anxiety flowing through his veins, or the apprehension threatening to jump out of his beating heart. He's been through this so many times before, but his anxiety never failed to betray him. The fact that he was in a whole new environment with not one around to witness didn't help much. Alastair's malevolence seemed unwavering, not a smidge of sympathy could be seen in him, and that paralyzed him. He's been beaten before, and he's been pushed around, but never by someone so evil minded and hostile. He opened his eyes and looked back up, trying his best to show that he couldn't be easily hurt from this.

"I'm just stating what's true, you're not exactly the the most intriguing person to be around," he dared. This obviously didn't amuse him as much as it did Castiel, because he gave another blow to his gut, causing a more intense ache than before as it overlapped the sore area. He almost lost balance, but Alastair's tight grip held him in place. He made sure to curl his fingernails into his skin through his shirt, gaining another whimper from the boy.

"I thought we we're friends, Cassie, what happened?" He sounded almost sad, but his malicious undertone was a dead give away at his farce.

"Friends don't just ignore eachother like that, I suggest you don't try it again," he alluded. He placed his fisted hand back on his disregarded shoulder to hold him up to a straighter position as his knees continued to weaken from the blow.

Castiel furrowed his eyebrows, his loud breaths becoming more distinct through his slightly open lips.

"I think you owe Al here a little apology," Jeffrey pitched in. He completely forgot for a moment that it wasn't just him and Alastair.

He looked behind him without turning his head and saw smirks on everyone's faces, every one but Dean. He looked at Dean again, for possibly the twentieth time in one week, and he wasn't surprised to catch Dean's gaze. He was still looking apathetic to everything as usual, but there was still something else there that he couldn't place his finger on, and it puzzled him to no end. He'd been getting the same stare all week, and he didn't know what to think about it. He returned his eying with a loathsome stare, which only intensified Dean's steadfast study. He returned his attention to Alastair, since Dean was the least of importance right now.

"Come on Cassie, it shouldn't be too hard with that big mouth of yours." Castiel tried to find the right words, but they couldn't be found. He stood there in utter silence, wishing that his mouth would work. After two blows to his middle, his voice just decided to leave and call it a day. All he could do was stare at him with what he hoped to be masked fear. He looked Alastair in the eyes, hoping he'd just give it a rest, but he knew that wouldn't happen. Especially with the reaction Castiel was unintentionally giving him.

"Apologize," he finished with a final demand, said in a way so that he knew Alastair would not accept no for an answer.

He looked over to his shoulder, seeing the long fingers stretched over the fabric of his clothing, squeezing with a tight grip. He was out of options, not like he had much of any in the first place. Castiel didn't even try to think it through, he just wanted it to be over, even if it meant giving Alastair what he wanted.

"I-I'm sorry." He looked down to the ground, and he noticed his vision started to blur a bit, but not enough to send tears rolling down his cheeks. He wasn't sure if it was because of the physical consequences of Alastair's fists, or his emotional state.

"That's better," Alastair smiled, and slapped his right shoulder as if to be comforting, but it gave the complete opposite feeling.

"But next time, make sure I don't have to tell you twice." His expression turned cold, sending chills down his spine.

"Do you understand?" he concluded.

"Yes, I understand". He gave a little nod, trying to look convincing.

"Good." Alastair gave his shoulders a good tug and kneed him in the stomach, startling Castiel with the sudden strike, coughing at the sudden contact.

"Now go get to you're next class, wouldn't want you being late, now would we?" His smile returned, and he released Castiel shoulders, so suddenly that he almost fell to the ground, but he leaned against the lockers for support, like it was the only thing he could cling on. He didn't want to look more weak than he already was, so he held on, even if just for a few more seconds before he collapsed.

Alastair walked off, along with what appeared to be everyone else, but he couldn't be too sure because he let his back slide down the locker, sitting against the cold metal. He closed his eyes shut and took a deep, shaky breath, completely defenseless in his self reassuring state. He was still going through the aftershocks of just being gutted by the knee, as well as still dealing with the ache from the preceding punches. He hugged his middle, and tried to sit in the most comfortable way to soothe his stomach, but the pain was determined to be felt, and was undeniably consistent.

He remembered the last time he was like this, before the incident, helpless and lost, still trying to process what just happened. It was in his old school, having just been beaten by a couple of students. He remembered coming home to Jesse, who was not sure whether to be outraged at who did it or worried for Castiel's condition. Pretty much most of his memories, excluding his little brother and some old friends, weren't good memories. But he was in no position to complain with all that he's done. He deserved the pain that he felt, and that he'd probably continue to feel for the rest of his life.

After his unsuccessful attempt at mitigating the pain away, he opened his eyes and saw a figure standing near in the halls. He focused his vision and looked up, only to see Dean winchester standing before him, casually standing there with his hands in his leather jacket, like he never even moved from his spot. How long had he been there? Alastair and the others seemed to have left the area, but what business did he still have to be here? He didn't even bother to question why he was still staring at him at this point.

"What do you want?" he questioned with a sigh, leaning his head back against the blue material, shutting his eyelids. He may have said that Alastair was the last person he wanted to be speaking with, but Dean wasn't far off the list.

Silence filled the vacant hall, almost in a calming way. He waited for his answer, but not exactly enthusiastic on hearing it.

"Nothing," he eventually replied, averting his eyes away from him now, looking out the window at the very end of the hall. He found it very hard to believe that he wanted nothing. But then again, what could he gain from being here alone with Castiel? He thought that was all he had to say with the long pause, and was about to speak to tell him to go away until he continued.

"It's just a bit pathetic," he finally admitted. Castiel opened his eyes, lifting his head up straight, and stared at him incredulously. He was calling me the pathetic one? Unbelievable.

"You mean how you like to watch people get beat up, or how you're too egotistic to join in?" he commented, earning Dean's gaze once again.

"Nice options, but I was going to go for how you use that snarky mouth of yours to hide the fear in your eyes," he smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

He was actually kind of on point there, which took him by surprise. Castiel had a habit of trying to mask his fear, or really any kind of emotion. He wasn't good at showing them, and other times, he just wasn't comfortable with other people seeing them. Sadness is one he never showed under any circumstances, because that was for him, and only him to see. That's why he was known to be quite unwelcoming. He never smiled much and gave off the wrong impression, causing others to keep their distance, if his perceived odd personality didn't already do that.

"I'm was not afraid," he lied. He was sure that he masked his inner feelings pretty well for someone being pinned to a locker, but he couldn't be too sure.

"I know my way around people, I know fear when I see it, no matter how subtle you try to make it."

Castiel extended his right leg to rest of the floor, but kept his left leg bent. He winced at the movement, but tried not to let is show through his voice, continuing to cradle his stomach.

"You don't know anything." He shook his head and broke their gaze, lifting one of his hands from his stomach to run it through his dark brown hair.

"Maybe I don't know everything, but I do have eyes," he said confidently.

They shared another minute of silence, not rushing the conversation. He wished that he would just leave, but it wasn't that easy when you just got a beating, and left completely vulnerable. But Dean didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon, for whatever reason. He kept silent, hoping Dean would get the clue if he hadn't already

"You don't even try to fight back, are you that weak?"

Castiel looked back up to him, fingers still lost in his hair.

"Are you that quick to judge?" he shot back, removing his hand, placing his arm back around his stomach, overlapping his other.

"If you were strong enough, you'd at least try. Either that, or you're a coward that can't fend for himself."

Castiel chuckled ironically, prompting a bewildering look on the man's face. He really didn't know anything. He knew nothing about him or his old school, and by the way things ended, who could blame him? He wasn't there, and he had no intention in sharing past events with him. With the way he doesn't try to physically defend himself from malice, even he found it hard to believe sometimes that he could actually put up a decent fight.

"Like I said, you don't know anything"..He looked solemnly into the others eye's, hoping to get his point across.

Dean raised his hand from his pocket and lifted a finger to him. "You saying you can actually throw a good punch?"

"I can throw several," he corrected, smug in his tone.

"I'm sure you can, maybe to a punching bag," he chortled, resting his hand at his side.

Castiel was actually kind of offended by that. He wasn't physically inferior from what he could tell when he looked in the mirror, and he sure wasn't some skinny guy who didn't have any muscle. He actually had quite a built body, one strong enough to defend himself. He just didn't want to use his body in a way that could harm others.

"What exactly is your goal here, Dean? Insult me until you find something better to do with your time? Don't you have a classes to get to?"

"I figured I'd keep you company, looks like you need it." He rolled his eyes, knowing that Dean didn't mean that literally.

"What I need is some time to heal, preferably not with you in proximity." He was annoyed now. Did Dean just enjoy affronting him, or was he really that bored?

"I don't think someone like you can afford to be too picky." What he said struck somewhere deep in Castiel, one in which he tried not to let bother him for a long time. He was referring to the fact that he still hasn't made any friends yet. It took a moment to get over it, and return to his prior state.

Before he could speak, Dean added, "It's pathetic that you don't even try defend yourself, you're basically the definition of bark but no bite with that mouth of yours."

He looked back down to his feet, familiar feelings catching up to him. It hurt Castiel to actually agree with what he was saying. He was pathetic. For feeling too much sympathy and empathy towards others, not wanting others to get hurt the way he did. He was too soft to fight back, and in this world he lived in, it was a weakness. He wasn't innocent despite his lenience, he has inflicted pain onto others like they had onto him. But unlike most others he's met, he couldn't get past the sight of blood on his swollen knuckles, and the beaten, abused face below him. It still haunted him almost every night, the guilt he felt, and knowing that some people could possibly enjoy such cruelty. He saw the look on the guys face over and over again as he begged Castiel to stop, but had just snapped, and he was long gone. He came back to reality soon enough and pushed those thoughts away, not knowing how long of an interlude he drifted away in.

"If I'm so pathetic, then why are you still here?" he lifted his head back up to meet Dean's eyes, fixing on them, curious for the answer.

Dean kept his eyes locked onto his, and the spoke, "I don't know."

"Then leave," he ended.

Dean seemed to get that Castiel just wanted to be left alone, and gave a nod. He turned on his feet and began to walk away, exiting through the staircase doors. Soon, the footsteps drifted off into nothingness.

Castiel let out another deep breathe, and attempted to pick himself back up, falling back on his behind in the process. He tries again, this time managing to hold himself up with the lockers, and made his way to the nearest bathroom. He was in no shape to go to his next class, he'd just settle for a skip and then wait and see if he was ready to go to last period when the time came. He stumbled into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it in the process. He didn't want to be questioned on his physical state at the moment, and would much rather heal with his own thoughts as company.

He went over to the sinks, and cupped his hands under the running tap to splash some water on his face. He ran his hands over his face once more, attempting to relieve his exhausted face, then gripped got a paper towel to dry himself off. He gripped his hands tight on the counter, helping him keep steady as he looked into the mirror on the wall in front of him. His weariness was manifesting on his face. He was just glad that Alastair didn't aim for anywhere visible, because he really didn't want to have to worry Jesse all over again. And his father, he'd be disappointed in him, like always. He knew that Castiel got bullied, but never did much about it, just scolded him for not being man enough to fight back. He gave another sigh, something he seemed to be doing quite a lot recently, and found balance on his feet, making his way over to the wall, and sat down against it. All that mattered to him now was that he didn't worry Jesse, so he took his time to heal.

* * *

Dean stepped down the stairs, making his way to the first floor. He was already late for class, he didn't feel the need to bother showing up when he could just skip entirely. He didn't like science that much anyways, and the teacher never really cared who showed up and who didn't. He was a pretty bad teacher, but it was an unwritten rule to never mention it, because who didn't like to skip everyone in a while? He went out the front door and made his way to the Impala, sitting in the front seat. He leaned his head back on the leather and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

His thoughts were sent back to just 10 minutes ago. It wasn't unusual for his friends to pick on the weak, so he never pondered on it. But this was Castiel, and for some reason, it was different. Normally, he didn't spare a glance to any of Alastair's victims, or if he did, he never felt more than a bit of sympathy for them. When you see a lot of shit in life, you just get use to it, and it doesn't affect you much anymore. So it's not like he was an ass that just didn't care at all, it just became a common thing for him to see and experience himself when you're involved with spiteful, belligerent people. But when he saw Castiel like that, being shoved by Alastair, and getting the crap beaten out of him, he couldn't help but turn away.a couple of times. It was somewhat difficult to watch as Alastair gave a few jabs to him, but he wasn't sure why. But when Castiel looked over to him, he nearly froze. It was like Castiel could see into his soul, but he learned long ago that they both had a penchant for staring at each other, and he'd rather not think of why.

He didn't know why he had stayed behind to talk to Castiel either, because there wasn't any reason to. They weren't friends, or really even acquaintances for that matter. He'd say they were strangers, but they've met too many times for that. Whatever they were, they weren't under talking circumstances. He wasn't checking on him to see if he was okay, or to keep him company like he said. He was glad Castiel didn't take that seriously, he wouldn't know what he'd do if he actually believed it. He wanted to think that he would leave, but he wasn't so sure with Castiel.

For some reason, he just felt inclined to stay with him, despite how they both pretty much got off, and stayed off on the wrong foot. It just felt like something he had to do, which really frustrated him because he was still kind of pissed off. Castiel disliking him, and not accepting his kindness was kind of hard to swallow at first, but then he kind of just let it slide. It still lingered at the back of his head, but he tried to pay no mind to it. He was done trying to be nice to him, and trying to converse with him, because Castiel was stubborn and incorrigible. He was determined to keep his opinions, and that was fine by him. Maybe not completely fine, but he would manage.

It was obvious that Castiel wasn't very fond of him, and he didn't mind that too, because the feeling was mutual, or so he thought. Because really, he wasn't too sure what he felt for the guy, he's never met someone like him before. He was actually quite witty, and that caught his interest, but then again, he also couldn't care less about some guy who he knew nothing about. He was sure that Castiel would keep it that way. He was seen as a loser, and Dean pretty much ruled high school. If they were ever to become more than what they already were, people would start talking. Rumors would spread, and he didn't want to ruin his status, especially for a guy like him.

He was somewhat curious about the guy. He seemed kind of off and dazed when they spoke, and just peculiar in general, but it was his best guess to assume that not everyone acts in the norm when they're practically getting mocked and ridiculed on a daily basis, especially not when he just took Alastair's fists to his gut. But there was something about him that said more than he let show, and it reminded him of himself in a way. Acting as if you we're living a normal life, with no troubles and worries. As intriguing as it was, and despite how he still wasn't completely over the guys aversion towards him, he didn't let it get to him, because the last thing he needed was to be friendly and familiar with the new kid.

He didn't know how long he sat in his car, but he decided to just ditch entirely and then come back to pick Sam up.


End file.
